But nearly three score years, Jim Wreet,
Hev past away sin’ then;
Then Keighley in Appolo’s Art,
Could boast her trusty men;
But music nah means money, Jim,
An’ that tha’s sense to knaw;
But just fer owd acquaintance sake.
Come gi’ us a wag o’ thy paw,
Jim Wreet,
Come gi’ us a wag o’ thy paw.
Full o’ Doubts and Fears.
Sweet sing the birds in lowly strain,
All mingled in their song;
For lovely Spring is here again,
And Winter’s cold is gone.
All things around seem filled with glee,
And joy swells every breast;
The buds are peeping from each bush,
Where soon the birds will rest.
The meadows now are fresh and green,
The flowers are bursting forth,
And nature seems to us serene,
And shows her sterling worth.
The lark soars high up in the air,
We listen to his lays;
He knows no sorrow, no, nor care,
Nor weariness o’ days.
But man, though born of noble birth,
Assigned for higher spheres,
Walks his sad journey here on earth
All full o’ doubts and fears.
Behold How the Rivers!
Behold how the rivers flow down to the sea,
Sending their treasures so careless and free;
And to give their assistance each Spring doth arise,
Uplifting and singing my songs to the skies.